Poetry: Someday (But Not Today)

Someday I will learn,
but not today.
I will stand on my own too feet,
and tell you how much I love you.

Someday you will learn,
but not today.
You will find out how much you miss me,
the day I'm no longer there.

Someday I will get over you,
but not today.
I will forget missed opportunity and blown chances,
finding another to take your place in my heart.

Someday you will laugh,
but not today.
You will smile at the thought of how hard I tried,
but you will know it was all for the best.

Someday I will stop lying to myself,
but not today.
I will admit to myself how much I miss you,
and the way you made me feel.

Writing: Moment in Time - Inner Monolouge

He can only grimace as he watches her leave. The escalator under her feet almost serves as a metaphor for their confusing relationship. He turns as her feet disappear above him and walks away. The sounds of the busy terminal fading to his own internal soundtrack. Lately, it has been playing discordant, non-melodic counter harmony. Like a ship captain washed overboard, he is over his head and sees no way back to dry land. The stands and stalls, full of people and worthless possessions, melt into the continually fading background. He tells himself he has done right by her, he has done what he convinced himself was right, but in the hollows of his mind he cannot lie to himself and say it was what he wanted. His face, which had remained as stoic and emotionless since he spoke the words, feels cold. His mind, which was almost convinced that this was what he wanted, knows better. The sight of her leaving erased all doubt about what he wanted. He wanted her.

The double doors slide open with a hydraulic hiss, letting the chill wind brush against his cheeks. Appropriate, he thinks, that the only embrace he receives is from the uncaring wind. Even though the wind shattered his dark musings, the rest of the world remains hidden, darkness beyond the stage lights shining on him. The sounds of the city bounce from him, never registering, never phasing. His mind, having a stranglehold on every thought, move, and notion, fills with her. It throws the truth of the situation at him. She doesn't think of him as more than they are. It throws the truth of his heart at him. He cant help but love her for everything she is. It throws the truth of what he did at him. He gave up what he wanted for her, an act of love that can never by any other man that strikes her fancy.

His driver opens his door with a slight bow and he steps in after one more glace at the plane heading west. He looks out the tinted windows as the car pulls away from the building. He did the right thing, his mind says again. You can do better than her, his mind councils. He smiles a thin smile as he pours himself a jack and coke from the minibar. Sitting back and taking a sip, he finally responds to himself. "You don't give her enough credit, never did. She is absolutely brilliant and you know it. Yes, she is stunningly beautiful and yes, I am aroused by that, but I am more aroused by what lies inside her. She has a beautiful mind and a glowing soul." With a sigh and a glance at the small speck heading for California, he continues, "But you were right about one thing. I did the right thing for both of us." His driver glances back to him and knows all too well what has happened. With a sigh himself, he wonders if his employer, his friend, will ever find happiness again.

Poetry: Falling Away

I feel it happening,
but have no way to stop it.
I'm falling away,
leaving pieces of me far behind.

Searching for the greener pastures,
but only finding sand.
Sifting through the ashes,
I'm falling away.

Like a snakes shedded skin,
I feel like a husk of what I was.
I need to keep my head up high,
collect all the pieces that are falling away.

You were once my refuge,
my hiding place from the world.
I look for you now,
but you have fallen away.

I need you now more than ever,
like a child lost without their parents.
I'm falling away and I need you,
but you are no longer around.

Forgive my somber musings,
but then again you have always been forgiving.
Come back in my life and re-ignite my smile,
pick up my pieces that have fallen away.

Writing: Moment in Time - Epipheny

Her sorrow snaps him from his brooding, like a dog doused in cold water. His eyes glance up, see the tears running down her face. Knowing what he should do, he is frozen in his own indecision. Should he comfort her? Will she let him? He strums another cord on his guitar as he stares into her face, drinking in the tear-soaked radiance.

How can he just sit there, she thinks. How can he watch me cry and not offer anything? Doesn't he know he is part of the reason I cry? She does not wipe the tears from her face, the warmth they let off helps ward off the chill of this late November night.

He can not remove his eyes from her face. He feels like he is caught in a web, staring at his soon to be killer. He realizes in that moment that it is true. She is his killer. Every time she cries, a part of him dies. He can feel it in his heart, the strain, the ache, every time a fresh tear is made. Could it be love, he muses. He has never known love before. Every relationship he has been in has been a relationship of lust. He strums another note.

I can not take this anymore, she silently screams. I am going to leave him tonight. To hell with love. Her tears flow faster, soaking her shirt now. The sorrow in her heart could never be matched by those tears, she tells herself, as she lowers her head into her hands like a broken hearted child.

His hands close around hers, causing her head to snap up in sorrowful astonishment. He says nothing as he looks deep into her red streaked eyes. He knows what he has done. He knows what he did the entire time, he just could not stop himself. That was always his problem. He thought too much, took too long to act and it always cost him. He was determined not to let her slip away from him, not again.

Like a key in a lock, they both knew they were destined for each other. It is going to be difficult loving me, his eyes said softly to her. I love you, her lips slowly parted. I am not an easy man, his eyes said sadly. I love you, her eyes slowly closed. I love you, his mouth finally said, as he kissed her.

Poetry: With Cold Eyes You Judge Me

With cold eyes you judge me
casting guilt and hurt in my teeth.
You burn me with words
and freeze me with your touch.

You do not understand me
you never have.
You always played up to me
stringing me along and along.

The strings were like barbed wire
your lies making them strong as steel.
They bit deep, drawing blood,
as you danced me around.

Now I lay broken,
cast down to the ground.
You lost your amusement in me
and threw me away like garbage.

No one wants what you have left,
no one wants the emptiness inside me.
I weep in the corner
for the life you stole from me.

Poetry: One Step

One step at a time and
we move together.
An intricate dance,
waltzing around the world.

One step and we are in New York,
mesmerized by the lights of Time Square.
Shows on Broadway fill our nights,
exploration fills our days.

One step and we are in San Francisco,
laughing as we go from shop to shop.
Dining with the Golden Gate bridge in front of us,
snapping photos with Chinatown behind.

One step and we are in Dublin,
stepping off the plane weary and excited.
Drinking the nights away in Irish pubs,
Soaking in the beauty of the land in the day.

One step and we are in Berlin,
Smiling as we mock those around us.
Drinking games and singing mark our days,
Opera and dancing fill the space from dusk till dawn.

One step and we are in Paris,
wine and cheese surrounding us.
Mornings occupied by beauty and art,
nights of song and dance.

We dance around the world,
over and over again.
One day there might be a time to stop dancing,
but that is when we are old and gray.

Commentary: Shout Out

Quick shout out to Miss Destructo at Destructo Deviations for her showing on WYFF in Greenville on Easter morning! Check out her interview here!

If you haven't checked out her blog yet, what are you waiting for?! Hop to it, right quick and in a hurry!

-SB

Writing: The Many Faces of My Muse

She walks with a smile that lights up a dreary day, parting the clouds and sending the warm caress of summer across my cheek. This is only one aspect of my muse, I think as she laughs and laughs while shooting her own sunlight back at the sun. I smile and feel her gentle pull on my hand, suddenly looking and losing myself in those eternal pools she calls eyes.Pen strikes paper and her gentle hands slide into my thoughts; her face taking on a look of concentration only marred slightly by the smirk playing across her beautiful face. I write and write, lost in her touch and the thoughts she invokes. She laughs and sends my heart soaring, my soul aching to please her any way I can. I pen the last line and feel her hands slowly leave me, her smile fading to a pout at being finished. I kiss her lightly and remind her that it is only for now and soon we will be together again.

These are a few of the faces of my muse. She keeps my inspiration locked in a pendant around her perfect neck. Twirling it around her finger, she watches me flounder and look appealingly to her, wanting nothing but to give myself to her completely. Her fingers ache to touch, to invoke the spirit, flesh, and mind. Her eyes are sad as she watches me type without grace nor form. Silent as a ghost, she rises to her feet and walks towards me, her hand slightly raised as if to hold me against her forever. My muse loves me for the gifts I present to her; the fruits of our combined labor. Pen on paper or fingers gliding across a keyboard, she is not fickle when it comes to medium. My muse and I are lovers, lovers in a way no mortal and inspiration ever were.

I shake my head from my day dream, the vision of my muse remains, but now she has physicality. She exists in reality the way you or I do, yet the form the Muse takes on the ethereal plane, where my mind burns to please her, exists at the same time. The relationships are different between the two forms and I, but the feeling is still the same. I sit across from her, listening to her talk. I sit across from her, watching her dance and sing in the sunlight. The woman. The muse. Both exist to me, yet neither are aware of the other. I smile at both, receiving smiles in return. My heart soars for both, telling me that despite their differences, my entire essence aches to please both the beautiful women before me.

Poetry: Verbal Assault

Holiday alone,
the rest uncomfortably occupied.
Liquor fumes,
smoke fills lungs.

Desire
Isolation
Romance
Countenance
Fuck
Envy
Friends
Enemies

The lines blur,
friends become enemies.
The lines shatter,
enemies become lovers.

Infusion
Orgasm
Refreshing
Stifling
Everything
Nothing
Welcoming
Goodbye

Hellos and How are yous,
empty greetings and hollow small talk.
Fuck offs and leave me alones replace,
the world flips and flails like a dying fish.

Wrap your arms around your ego,
holding it tight to your breast.
You're better than them,
least you will always believe so.

Go on and give them little thought,
tell yourself you're better off without them.
I traveled thousands of miles away,
yet they are always right on my tail.

Don't become the child here,
clinging to my coat tails crying for understanding.
I ran out of understanding years ago;
now I am full of contempt.

Anger
Sex
Creative
Hollow
Words
Kissing
Pushing
Go
Stay

You can only join me when you realize,
nothing really matters anymore.
I used to love you and others,
but now I wonder what I ever saw in any of you.

Soon you will see this as well,
the world grovelling to be let back in.
Stay firm and resolute,
they don't deserve it.

Writing: Strange Journey

Where do they go, he thought as he looked around. Neither knew where they were, almost as if they wandered onto the set of a cliche horror movie. "I almost expect some guy in a flesh mask to come out and kill us," he says. She laughs and looks around, trying to remember where they were before it happened. It was one kiss and now they were somewhere they didn't expect to be. She looks around at the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to get bearing. They were still in Florida, much to her chagrin, and it was still night out, but what night? Was it the same night or did they somehow lose time somewhere? She turns to him and in a flash of lightening that arcs through the sky, he vanished.

He opened his eyes and struggled to focus on the room around him. His eyes slowly adjusted and he looked around in confusion. How did he end up here, he silently questioned himself. He knew this place, but his mind was still foggy. He slapped at the side of his head, trying to clear the fog when it struck him. He was in New York! Panic grips him as he tries to understand how he got here. They kissed, a flash, and they were somewhere neither of them had been, they looked at each other again, another flash, and he was in the North. He patted his pockets, desperately looking for his cell phone, he needed to make sure she was okay.

She stood only for a short time before the shock wore off. Her phone was missing and his was shattered on the side of the road. She started walking up the road, the effects of the liquor they drank wearing off under the strange circumstances. She could see lights in the distance, so she made for them, walking with determination and just a slight bit of worry about him. People don't vanish in a flash of light, she told herself. He had to be somewhere, she just had to get to a phone. Lighting up a cigarette and tasting the menthol, she calms herself down and tries to piece the events together.

He opened the door to the room he was in, only to be blinded in a flash of brilliant light. When the flash fades, he is no longer where he was. He knew this place too. The old wooden furniture and the sweet scent of country air brings back fuzzy memories from his past. He spots a phone sitting on a faded oak end table and strides towards it, stopping as his gaze falls on a phone book sitting next to it. He lifts the book, keeping it open to the page that it was open to. Her name was there! It wasn't possible, he thought, he didn't know her then and he hasn't been back here since they met! What was going on? He tosses the book to the side, barely hearing the sound of it striking the solid door and falling to the floor. He picks up the phone only to be greeted with dead silence. He looks around in much more panic than he had before, nothing is right. Something was very, very wrong. He rushes to the door, flinging it open, covering his eyes as if expecting another flash. When nothing occurs, he steps out into the brisk Irish morning, glancing up at a perfectly clear blue sky. He knocks on door after door, frantically trying to get someone to answer. A rumble of thunder stops him in his tracks. He glances to the cloud covered sky just in time to catch the next flash to the unknown.

She walked for an hour, her legs killed her. She had no phone signal where ever she was. Strange thing, she thought, she passed by two cell towers since she started walking, there should have been no way she couldn't get a signal. Even stranger was the lack of cars on the road. It's still early in the morning, could be a late starter area. She reaches the outskirts of the town and stops at a payphone next to a gas station. Picking up the receiver, she frowns and hangs up, frustrated at the upkeep of these old phones. Never work, she complains in her head. She hears a rumble and turns, hoping that is was an overnight trucker or something, someone, to get her out of this, only to come face to face with a flash of brilliance. She opens her eyes and struggles to keep standing. This time she felt ill, something she didn't feel last time. Maybe because he was there. Only this time he wasn't there, she didn't know where he was. She looks around the room and leans against the small desk that was in there against the wall. Still trying to get a grip on her stomach, she glances down at the table and see's papers with names that she knows on them. Moving closer to inspect, she notices a small phone book laying next to the door. Dipping slightly to pick it up, she randomly opens it to a page. "Not possible!", she exclaimed. His name was the first entry in the book, but it wasn't his number. Starting to panic, she lurches towards the door. As she turns the nob and begins the unstoppable act of opening it, she hears a rumble of thunder. She saw a small apartment and two people sitting in it before the flash covered everything.

They stood no more than a few feet from each other. Every muscle aching to touch, to caress. Lips half parted, wanting with all their might to tell the other how much they missed them and worried about them. Two pairs of eyes, searching deep in the other, wanting. The air around them was motionless, just as they were. Two statues locked, kept apart by forces they couldn't comprehend. They could feel nothing, hear nothing. They could only see each other and the feelings that passed between them unspoken. It has always been this way with them, they thought. A moment in time, that is all they ever had. So close to letting something happen, but fear and trepidation keep them from saying what they really want to say. Forever kept apart by their own insecurities. All they could do now was watch each other and dream about what could have been.

Footsteps echo near them, accompanied with the squeal of rusty wheels. The sound of a broom being pushed and the tinkle of broken glass. A male voice mutters a greeting and shuffles away. They don't panic that he didn't stop to help them, but continue to look at each other, eyes locked as if in stone.

Two potential lovers, forever kept apart, I think as I watch them from a bench nearby. Their stone hands extended to each other, but never able to touch. I set my pen down and reach for my coffee, making sure my story doesn't blow away in slight breeze. I sip the coffee, my eyes going back to the cursed couple. What could have been might have never had a chance, I muse. I glance at my notes and read a few lines from each of the stories I wrote about them. Two passionate people, crossing paths for a brief moment, only to be ripped apart eternally. My phone rings, filling the air around me with Journey. I laugh to myself, "adequate". As I stand up and answer the phone, I give one last look to the statues and smile. We make our own prisons just like the one their are trapped it, I say to myself, drawing strange looks from those around me. I walk away, leaving a small phone book at the foot of the statues with the names I had given them as the only two entries.

Poetry: Sally

I gave you it all,
you gave nothing in return.
Put down the drink, Sally,
and talk to me.

We danced
the night we met.
We drank
like it would never run out.

Today we live in our little flat,
o'er looking the harbor.
You don't dance anymore,
but the glass n'ver let your hand.

Sally, I love you,
but I cant stay.
Ya live in a bottle,
a beer soaked genie.

I admit that I drink my share,
but you are of a higher order.
Ah, t'hell with it and let's hit the pub, Sally,
drinks be on me tonight!

We'll go dance and sing,
trading shot for shot.
Later we'll make passionate love,
but Sally, my girl, leave the bottle out.

Commentary: Life Revisited

I have been doing a couple of things recently that have had me revisiting how I run my life. Oddly, the music of Mac Lethal and the website Lifereboot.com (thanks to Miss Destructo) have had me looking at things a bit differently. It's strange to re-evaluate my life at my age, but sometimes these happen earlier than we think.

I am trying to decide between coming back to Purchase or going to Buffalo State University and switching my major to a completely new course. I am thinking of moving from Psychology to English, follow what I have always had a passion in. I will effectively lose 2 years of schooling, but it is a small price to pay for what I love.

All that is keeping me tuned to Purchase right now is Shanna. She has entered my life like a shooting star and touched me as deep as seeing three in a single night. My problem is... I am confused. Not about her or even my academic future... I am confused about my life. I don't know what I want, so I seem to self-sabotage myself, stopping myself from being happy before the other shoe drops.

What do I do? This seems to be the question of my life right now. Do I go to Buffalo, back home to care for my family and pursue my passion in writing? Do I stay in Purchase? Or do I do the unexpected and move someplace different, away from most people I know and restart my life? So many questions, so little time to decide.


A maudlin post, I know. Not my typical. Just some very late night ramblings and thoughts echoing through my head. So, before I get completely melancholy, I will leave you with some Mac Lethal lyrics that mave stuck with me at every part of my day recently.


Mac Lethal - Sun Storm

And I know,
There's something beautiful within my grasp.
And I know,
I think I'm satisfied but it won't last.
And I know,
To lace my boots up and pick my path.
I'll find another rainstorm to fill my glass.

Mac Lethal - Black Widow Spider

There's a black raincloud floatin' in my head
I always lose at the game of love
I gotta cleanse this nightmare out my system
Somebody wake me up
I'm gonna pop me a pill, gonna die for the girl that'll let me die for her
Cause my ex girl wanna ask me why I feel so strongly like I'm sure
Well, Fuck her.

NOTE:: These lyrics have no bearing on anyone in my life but my own psyche. Do not read into them thinking they are about anyone specific. They are just lyrics that have stuck with me.

Writing: Moment in Time - Morning

He slowly untangles himself from the bedsheets, stealing a glance through sleep coated eyes at the clock. His bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor, a stretch rocks his body as he yawns. Standing up, he stumbles to the bathroom, his clothes hitting the floor during the walk. The hiss of water fills the quiet flat, quickly followed by the sound of 80's at 8 on his favorite morning radio station. He steps in the shower and feels instantly revitalized. After a short while, the hiss stops and he steps out, dripping water on the bathmat. Drying off, he thinks about what he has to do today. A smile lights his face as his favorite song hits the radio. Combing his fair and brushing his teeth to the sweet sound of Journey, he sings in his normal off-key way. He doesn't care, he just loves to sing. Tossing on a pair of jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and his Converse shoes, he snatches his wallet and keys and heads out the door.

He walks down the sidewalk, waving to his neighbors sitting on their porch sipping at their usual expensive coffee's they get shipped from all over the world. Their dog comes out for a quick pet and scampers around him, wanting him to play. He throws a stick into the yard and the Collie leaps into action, running with everything his 8 year old body can muster. He smiles, waves again, and keeps walking, turning into a florist's stand after a while. He buys a number of random flowers and chats with the young lady who owns the stand. He buys her a single rose, smiles, and walks away, leaving her slightly swooning. Flowers in hand, his next stop is a small bakery on the corner, where he buys a dozen danishes and talks sports with the surly, not to him surely, owner of the neighborhood bakery. A quick wave with the flowers to the patrons, and out the door he goes again.

He takes the steps to the building two at a time, grabbing the polished brass handle of the door and holding it open for two elderly women who he offers a danish to, smiling at them in a way that takes them back to they days they courted when they were young girls. They laugh and compliment him and his chivalry while he smiles and wishes them a great day before stepping through the door. He gets into the elevator, hitting the button and nods his head in tune with the music playing inside. He goes up and gets out, walking with confidence born out of sheer bravado. He stops before the door and hesitates only briefly before knocking in a hypnotic pattern. The door opens and he smiles at her, knowing that she never expected him to show after the fight they had a week ago. Her smile is like a drug to him as he drinks it all in. He apologizes and gives her the flowers and danish. She smiles, knowing that she almost made the biggest mistake in her life letting him walk out of it. She opens the door a bit more and invites him in. He steps through the door and into her kiss. The door closes behind him, but a door in front of him opens once again.

Poetry: Zero Hour

Time, the gentle killer,
ebbs and flows with inhuman determination.
We fight day after day trying to slow its passage,
yet day after day the grains fall through our hands.

Run and run through Time's never-ending halls,
the ticks of seconds and the chimes of hours sound all around you.
Run and run yet never take a single step,
Time held you fast with the grip of death.

Take what you have left and forge ahead with your head held high,
Time is patient, ever vigilant, and will wait for you when the last grain drops.
With a gentle grip and eternal eyes guiding your last step,
you will finally make your way down that infinite hallway to your next great adventure.

If You Call, I Will Answer

When does a normal man twist all known perceptions of what defines him and becomes evil? What inside him changes and causes him to rape, rob, murder . . . and enjoy it? That is the extreme end of a change, so the lesser evil man uses people, is careless with a woman's feelings, and doesn't care who gets hurt in the process of "enjoying" his life, what changes this type of man back?

The stone, once stoic,
flows red and molten.
Once calm and sedate,
it flows with a rage never seen.

How do we play games with each other, yet proclaim we want someone in our lives who doesn't play games? Do we enjoy the "cat and mouse" with those around us so much that we lost the ability to be straight forward with each other? Have we come to a point where we are so afraid to love that our hearts have become calloused and hard?

Flowing without care,
the water ran freely.
Once brisk and refreshing,
it now stands locked in azure ice.

Where do we go from here? How do we stop the man from becoming the cold, heartless man he has changed in to? How do we open the shell around our hearts, forgetting the pains of the past, and learning to love straight forwardly again? Can we reach the point of trusting people the way we should, being open without the risk of being taken advantage of?

Through the tree's,
the wind gusts unpredictable.
Once felt by everyone everywhere,
it now stands still and unmoving.

A young man likes a young woman, showing his feelings to her in ways that verge on subtle, but stand precariously close to obvious. The young woman, suffering from a heart shattered and broken, can't release from what society dictated to her and turns him away. Her heart remains encased in emotional stone and he changes ever so slightly. Time after time this occurs, the heart of the young woman solidifies and becomes resistant to being broken again. The mind of the young man develops its own callouses, changing him; hardening him against the feelings of others.

The flame once burned,
bright and cheery.
Once sustaining heat,
nothing but a wisp of smoke remains.

Going backward and reversing the flow of time, what would have happened if only two changes were made: The young man was straight forward and the young woman took a chance on him, knowing he isn't like the rest? Would things have gone differently? Would things have stayed the same? Caught in the same sad love story that has repeated throughout history time and time again, what can make even the briefest of flames burn bright?

Given time and patience,
the heart can survive breaking.
Given caring and tenderness,
the heart can be mended.

Where does the story of the young man and the young woman lead? Do they let what feelings between them blossom and grow or do they sink into the darkness of the forest? Only the two of them can decide what steps they take in the matters of heart and mind. They can choose to fall back into the darkness or challenge society and take the risk of caring once more.